Secret of the Scroll (Greg McKenzie Mysteries) (25 page)

“They wouldn’t keep her in a hotel,” Jarvis mused. “Probably not even in the city.”

“That’s what Jake and I thought. He suggested one of the religious kibbutzes.”

“Kibbutzim,” Jake corrected me.

“That’s a possibility. Do you plan to contact this Moriah today?”

“As soon as possible. I don’t like the idea of what might be happening to Jill. No doubt he’ll propose a meeting to exchange the scroll for her, but I have serious questions about how that would go down. When I tried an exchange with the Palestinians in
Nashville
, they used it as an attempt to capture me as well.”

“I’ve made some good intelligence contacts over here,” the colonel said. “And I’ve collected a few IOU’s. There’s one guy in particular who strikes me as a straight shooter, doesn’t play games. He’s Jewish, of course, but not rigidly so. I’ve known him to eat a ham sandwich on occasion and do some pretty strenuous labor on the Shabbat. Let me see what I can get out of him.” He glanced at his watch. “Damn! I’ve got to get out of here before I’m late at the consulate. Do you have a cell phone, Cohen?”

Jake nodded. No self-respecting occupant of the
Holy Land
would be without his cell phone. He gave Colonel Jarvis the number.

“I’ll get back to you as soon as I can get through to my contact,” Jarvis said as he bounced up to leave.

“One thing you might mention to him,” I said, “is what I learned about the jet that took off from
Nashville
bound for
Israel
. It was an Astra SPX cleared to Ben-Gurion. Had ‘Imperial’ and a large replica of a cut diamond painted on the tail.”

“Imperial Diamonds,” he said, nodding. “That figures. This is a big center for diamond cutting and polishing. Look, if I were you, McKenzie, I’d call Moriah from a pay phone. Feel him out and stall. I wish I could give you some better options, but this is a real hair-grayer.”

“I know.”

Chapter
33

We found a street kiosk where I shelled out a few shekels for a telephone card. Then Jake steered me to another public phone booth. I dialed the number for the
Temple
Alliance
, got a woman who sounded pleasant enough and asked for Moriah.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “We don’t have anyone by that name. Who is calling, please?”

No Moriah? Then why ask my name? More likely they had no intention of admitting there was a Moriah. “This is Greg McKenzie,” I said.

“Just a moment, Mr. McKenzie, and I will see if someone can help you.”

A man quickly came on the line. “Good morning, Mr. McKenzie. The party you need to speak with is not known here. If you will give me your phone number, he will call you as soon as possible.”

In other words, tell us where you are. “Sorry. I’m calling from a pay phone, but I’ll be leaving here as soon as I hang up. Give me another number or tell me what time I can reach Moriah at this number.”

That was obviously not what he wanted to hear. After a long pause, he said, “As you were told, there is no one here by that name. However, a staff member will speak with you, but I must have a number at which he can reach you.”

I had come too far and waited too long to indulge in any more games. My patience was gone. “Look, my friend. You do not hold all the cards. Right now I’m dealing. Understand? Where can I reach Moriah?”

“I would caution you not to do anything you might regret, Mr. McKenzie.”

“I’ve been doing things I regret for the past four days,” I said. “And it’s getting old. Give me a number.”

“Do you wish to risk placing someone in further peril?”

“You forget,
I
have the scroll.
You
have five seconds before I hang up.”

“Call back in one hour,” he said. “Ask for Department 24.”

I smiled as I hung up the pay phone. I hoped in an hour I would hear from Colonel Jarvis. I relayed the conversation to Jake and suggested we spend the next hour checking into religious kibbutzim within 150 kilometers of
Jerusalem
. It was a guess. But I doubted they would take her farther away than that.

Jake drove us over to the
Hebrew
University
’s Givat Ram Campus in
West Jerusalem
, not far from the Knesset, where
Israel
’s parliament meets. This modern complex was built after the original university campus on
Mount
Scopus
was cut off from
West Jerusalem
in 1948. As Jake explained it, although east of the ceasefire line, the hilltop enclave of
Hebrew
University
and
Hadassah
Hospital
was held by Israeli troops as a fortified island inside Jodanian-held
East Jerusalem
. The institutions were re-supplied by monthly Red Cross convoys until their liberation in the 1967 Six-Day War. But, in the meantime, the new campus was built across town and now housed science departments, along with the National and University Library. We entered the university library, a huge structure that featured a stained-glass window depicting images of Jewish mysticism.

Jake found a helpful young woman with a schoolmarmish look. She provided us with a directory of kibbutzim that detailed their makeup and origin. I learned there were some 270 of these communal settlements, with around 130,000 residents. After checking through the list, we narrowed the suspects to a few that met our criteria. They were within 120 kilometers–about 75 miles–of
Jerusalem
and were religious in nature. One operated a small winery in the hills north of Caeserea, not far from Zichron Yaakov, a town founded by Baron Edmond de Rothschild. Another was in the vicinity of
Ashdod
on the Mediterranean coast. Still another was located in a fertile valley beside a spring in the area east of Tel Aviv.

We were just leaving the library when Colonel Jarvis rang in on Jake’s cell phone. After I related my conversation with the unidentified staffer at the
Temple
Alliance
, Jarvis gave an impatient grunt. “I’m not surprised. They’re probably guarding against your use of a recording device. My friend suggested trying to tape them. He said the police would be reluctant to launch an investigation without tangible evidence of a crime.”

“I can relate to that,” I said. I would have felt the same during my days as a criminal investigator. “I’m supposed to call back shortly, but I don’t have access to any kind of recorder.”

“Let me take care of that,” the colonel said. Then he suggested a meeting place with telephones available. “I told my contact about that flight you think your wife was on. He’s in Tel Aviv and promised to look into it, but he advised not to get your hopes up.”

As we drove through dusty streets lined with rows of brown masonry that looked even more drab beneath a dun-colored sky, I indulged in a little game I had sometimes pursued in my younger days. I had taken a college course from a psychology professor who came from
Duke
University
, where he had worked in the Parapsychology Laboratory with the eminent Dr. Joseph Rhine. We read a lot of studies concerning extra-sensory perception, including a report on the Army’s research in the field. And we took some of the tests they had used, involving a deck of twenty-five cards bearing either a star, a circle, a cross, a square or wavy lines. As the professor would look at a card hidden from our view, we would attempt telepathically to identify it. It sounds pretty far out, but statistics showed that with some people, the degree of accuracy was well beyond what random chance would have produced.

For a while after that I would make occasional attempts to project my thoughts into another person’s head. If I had sent somebody on an errand, for example, I would concentrate on thinking that they should bring back something I hadn’t requested. Afterward, I would ask if they got the message. Nobody ever did. Obviously my talents lay elsewhere, but I gave it a try. Fear and desperation can make you do that.

Closing my eyes, I gave my full thought to visualizing Jill’s face, then transmitted a silent message with all my concentration:
I love you more than ever, babe . . . and I’m going to find you and get you home.

Whatever came of it, it made me feel a little closer to her at the moment. And it made me even more determined to find a way to outmaneuver the
Temple
Alliance
. To me, they were doing the work of the devil. I had to admit that I possessed little maneuvering room, and even that could be snuffed out with the call to Moriah.

Chapter
34

When I opened my eyes, I found we were approaching the shopping and dining strip on
Ben-Yehuda Street
near
Zion Square
. After Jake located a parking spot for his Dodge, we moved along the tree-lined pedestrian promenade with its outdoor cafes, traditional shops, and eateries beneath wrought-iron balconies. Despite the threatening weather, it was filled with Jerusalemites out to see and be seen. When we had gone a couple of blocks, we came to a bearded street musician coaxing a solo from a battered cello. He stood outside a jewelry store called the House of Kamal. It was another Arab-run business. Colonel Jarvis met us just inside the door.

“Come on back to the office,” he said. He steered us toward the rear of the shop, past rows of bauble showcases.

We found the door open to a room with a large desk made of olive wood. Comfortable-looking chairs were provided and a tall man sat behind it. He stood and smiled as we entered.

“Meet my friend, Kamal,” said the colonel. “This is Greg McKenzie and Jake Cohen. We appreciate your letting us borrow your office for a few minutes.”

The Arab nodded. “Take your time, my friend.”

Jarvis had told us that Kamal was another Bedouin. These former nomads were consummate Arab hosts. Making friends feel welcome and at ease was important to them. I remembered reading in a guide book that Bedouins were not subject to the Israeli draft but many of them had volunteered to serve as scouts and trackers. Most likely a military connection had steered Jarvis into their path.

After Kamal had closed the door behind him, the colonel suggested I sit behind the desk while he and Jake took the chairs. He handed me a small device hardly larger than a pack of gum, which included an elastic band connected in the center.

“Slip the band around the receiver,” he instructed. “Press the red button, then dial your man.”

When the
Temple
Alliance
receptionist answered, I asked for Department 24. The voice that came on a few moments later was clearly the one I had heard in my room at the Hotel Patriarch.

“I enjoy dealing with you, Colonel McKenzie,” said Moriah. “You are full of little surprises. I trust you had a restful night?”

“Better than if I had stayed at the Patriarch,” I said. “But I would rest a lot better if I could talk to my wife.”

“That will happen in good time, I’m sure. We’re discussing a simple business proposition. You have a piece of merchandise, and we are willing to pay your price. We simply need to get together and consummate the deal.”

He was choosing his words carefully. He clearly intended to say nothing that could be used to incriminate him or the
Alliance
. I, of course, had other ideas.

“Let’s not bandy words, Mr. Moriah,” I said. “I have the scroll and you have my wife. I want to talk to her and make sure she’s okay before I hand over the scroll.”

“I’m afraid someone has misinformed you, Colonel. My name is Moshe Levin, not Moriah. I know nothing about your wife, except what you suggest, that something untoward has happened. But, as I said, we are prepared to meet your terms. And, as I am sure you will understand, we must see the material first to ascertain its authenticity.”

This man would admit nothing. He was not about to be goaded into saying anything that I might use to spark any interest in a police investigation.

“So what do you suggest?” I asked, deflated.

“I understand your concerns, that you are probably reluctant to meet in private. I’m sure you are familiar with the
Church
of
All Nations
?”

“Yes. I visited it a couple of weeks ago.”

“Why don’t we meet there, in the rearmost row of chairs. Say in about an hour. Let’s make it twelve-thirty.”

I remembered the church well. It was a beautiful building with a Byzantine-style mosaic façade and unusual windows, fashioned not of stained glass but of alabaster, a translucent stone. The area at the rear was not well lighted. But, located adjacent the
Garden
of
Gethsemane
, at the foot of the
Mount of Olives
, it was nearly always filled with tourists. If Colonel Jarvis could provide some backup, I might feel reasonably safe there.